Page 32 of The Bargain
“I hate sugar in a drink,” I say, “but give me a Mr. Goodbar any day and I’ll make it disappear.”
“Oh, I love those. And Tootsie Rolls. It was a thing for me as a kid I never outgrew. My mother loved them, too.” She shoves away her plate.
I do the same with mine. “I was admiring the photo of you and your parents. She was beautiful.”
“Inside and out. You have no idea. She was a high school teacher. The kids wanted to please her, even the rowdy ones. She had that quality.”
“I wish I could have met her.”
“I wish you could have, too. She wouldn’t have been intimidated by your money.”
“I wish you weren’t. Why are you?” And then I pull one of my father’s negotiation tricks out of the bag, seeking truth in spontaneity as I challenge her with, “Answer without thinking.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ethan
Tomysurprise,ratherthan leaning away from me in withdrawal, she leans in closer and meets my stare. “I have thoughts about this. I’m self-analytical to the extreme sometimes, which translates to I overthink and drive people crazy. So be ready for that, but to answer the question, different worlds and bank accounts might not bother me as much if you didn’t hold my career in your hands.” I open my mouth to object, but she holds up a hand. “I know I’m the one who holds my world in my hands, but your belief in me has helped, and it’s hard to separate that. And before you protest, you know you took a risk getting involved with me when you sit on Moore’s board.”
“Is there anyone else I would chase across the country? No. That’s true. My mother died when I was young. I think I told you that, right?”
“Yes. When you were ten.”
“Yes. When I was ten. But she kept a series of journals of all the things she wanted me to know, and when I turned twenty-one, they were released to me. She started writing them even before I was born. I’ve read all of them a thousand times, it seems.”
“How many are there?”
“Ten.”
“Ten? That’s a lot.”
“It’s almost as if she expected to die young, but she didn’t mention that idea in her musings.”
“I think maybe she did.”
“I’m glad to have them. It’s the only way I really know her. Ten was a long time ago. In some ways I feel I know her more than many kids know their mother. She wrote opinions about everything and anything. And to that point, one thing she wrote in numerous places was her desire for me to find my perfect rose and never let money or power stop me from tending it, or I’d burn in a flower bed of ashes. We’re new, I know, but I think maybe you’re that rose, Sofia.”
Her cheeks heat and her lashes lower, dark against her pale skin, before her eyes meet mine. “You really are so…”
“I am so what?”
“Overwhelming in all the right ways. I wish I would have met your mother.”
“You would have liked her. She loved fashion. She did a lot of charity work and hosted a fashion gala for the children’s hospital the year before she died.”
“That’s incredible.” Her brows dip. “She seems different from your father. You seem different when you talk about her versus him. Were your parents close?”
“They were. She called him a tiger, and he said she defanged him. From what she’s written, he was a different man when she was alive. I try to remember him through her eyes, but he’s not been that person in two decades.”
“Loss is difficult. We both know that.”
“He can’t use that as an excuse this many years later,” I say, sliding my hand under the table to steady my knee as my foot taps with the agitation only my father can draw from me.
“You’re clearly not close to him. Is your brother?”
“He pushes me. He coddles my brother.”
“Ah. I see.”
